• By ILI Director Lucinda Garthwaite

“. . . how sad and ordinary every little life, however gilded, can be.”

 

That’s the final phrase in an essay by opinion writer Lucy Mangan in The Guardian last weekend. Mangan was finishing up a reflection on the British royal family, particularly the very public rift between the two sons of the current monarch.

 

I care about relationships, how they sour, how they repair.  Otherwise, with all else there is to read and think about, this story is not at the top of my list.  What caught me about Mangan’s final line, though, was that I thought it contained a hint of grace.

 

Why did I think that?

 

I grew up understanding grace as bestowed by a god who loved and affirmed me no matter what.  My mother spoke often of “the Comforter,” gratefully certain of a divine, loving presence, especially in difficult times, and, while my understanding of faith and the divine has since changed, I think I understand what she was talking about. I have felt that comfort too.

 

Any serious study reveals that the concept of grace, thought variously understood, is ubiquitous among people of faith and spirit, and grace exists in secular thought as well. Graceful Atheist podcast host David Ames says grace is “proactive acceptance, love and caring for our fellow human beings,” adding that, “there is nothing more valuable, moral, or ethical than people loving and accepting one another.

 

But the grace I felt from Lucy Mangan was not that.  She feels great sorrow, she writes, “for all that has been done wrong, all that has been lost and how, in the end, how sad and ordinary every little life, however gilded, can be.”

 

I realize it’s the “however gilded” that got me. Arguably, that family represents the most gilded of the gilded, the epitome of ancestral wealth, horribly ill-gotten over hundreds of years of colonialism, extraction, and cultural destruction.  Still, Mangan sees their suffering, sadness, and loss, and dedicates the last notes of her essay to making space for that in – despite their global fame, their very human, “little” lives.

 

What I felt in that was not divine grace; Mangan is not a god, and for people of faith and spirit, Divine grace is not something people can offer each other.  But the grace I’m thinking about this week is like divine grace; it’s generous, given freely despite past mistakes and wrongs, despite limitations. And it opens the way for redemption.

 

I found several examples of this in the work of activist and Smith College Professor Loretta Ross.  In a 2021 TED talk, Ross tells a story of a time when she made an incorrect assumption out loud about a student in her class. “I froze in shame,” Ross says, “I expected the student to jump down my throat, because misgendering somebody is a really big deal nowadays. And instead, this student looked at me and offered me grace by saying, "Oh, that's all right, professor. I misgender myself sometimes."

 

How is that grace? Ross doesn’t say, but it seems she felt relieved of her shame, forgiven perhaps, with room to join that student in being human, capable of mistakes.

 

In another context, Ross talks about working with people with whom she disagrees on almost everything.  She calls them the “25 percenters,” meaning at best they can find only a bit of common ground.   By way of example, Ross speaks of people who behave in racist ways and support racist systems, but don’t think of themselves as racist.

 

Her job as an activist with those folks is not, she says, “to convince them they’re racist.”  It’s to focus on her observation that that, “they do think they’re good people,” and convince them to do good things from that place.   Also, says Ross, it’s important to “Take their fear seriously.  If you dismiss their fear, they won’t listen.” 

 

Writing about that part of Ross’s work, journalist Anand Giridharadas calls that grace. How is that grace? I think because it’s an accepting stance, a generous stance. It doesn’t sanction persistent ignorance, bigotry, or harm. It makes room for the good in people to shine. It makes it possible for them to change.

 

For many people of faith and spirit, divine grace is most importantly redeeming, because in its freely offered and affirming light, they believe they can behave with love and compassion -- even if they have not done so well in the past. 

 

What people can give each other is something like that, affirming shared humanity and the possibility of doing better, generously holding space for future.  In a world crying for change, that’s an essential and precious gift to give.